


Honor in Ruin

by Volant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Healthy Relationships, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Chronological, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Touch-Starved, talking about emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volant/pseuds/Volant
Summary: Dean knows there are some things you just don't talk about. Castiel is one of them.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 3





	Honor in Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Sappho's [To an army wife, in Sardis...] tr. Mary Barnard.
> 
> This is one hundred percent an experiment - it's my first fic for Supernatural, and one I've been wanting to write for a while, since it will give me a chance to (hopefully) try out a new writing style! As per usual, canon is my bitch so any discrepancies are totally on purpose and definitely not because I was too lazy to do my research. 
> 
> Tags, rating, and description are subject to change!

One night, about a month before he left, they were watching some B-movie after dinner. Just as it was wrapping up – the guy got the girl, the president was safe, the moon didn’t explode, whatever – Lisa leaned into Dean and whispered, “I want to try something new tonight.” Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He glanced at Ben, who’s sprawled on the floor a few feet away, eyes glued to the TV, and then at Lisa. He caught the flash of her smile, one that promised something _real_ special. He nodded.

“Okay,” he says, taking a swig of his beer. Something new. Well – he’s game for anything once, at least.

“Okay,” Lisa echoed back to him, and took the bottle out of his hand to drink from it. He laughed and waited for her to hand it back. Things hadn't been good between them for a while – it’s not that they’re fighting, but Dean was getting restless and Lisa, God, Lisa was just too good about it. Dean _wanted_ to fight, thought it might relieve that itch in his gut telling him to get up and go. But every time he started to pick one, Lisa gave him – he’s not sure what it is. She made him tea (awful) and they sat at the kitchen table and she said things like “Dean, I want you to be happy,” or “Dean, I love you. Do what you need to do,” or even “You seem kind of tense. Do you want to talk about it?”

Which – _fuck no_ he didn't want to talk. Is that, Dean wondered, what real people in real relationships do? They just lay it all out in front of each other?

It sounded like some grade-A bullshit, so Dean laughed it off and Lisa kept making him tea and it was like they'd been walking in circles around each other for half of the goddamn year. She’d been giving him looks, long ones, when she didn't think Dean was looking. Like she was worried about him, or something, and it had Dean on edge. He didn't think he’d really done anything wrong – he mowed the lawn, and he barbecued, and he went for poker once a week with the guys. He took Ben to school in the morning, and shooting on the weekends, and once he even volunteered to sub as a coach for the kid’s little league team. He hasn’t killed anything in a year. He was a model citizen, for Christ’s sake, and even that wasn't doing it for Lisa.

But sex – Dean could do sex. Dean was _fantastic_ at sex.

After the movie, Lisa shuffled a complaining Ben off to bed. Dean finished loading the dishwasher and made his way upstairs to their room. He sat on the bed – on his side of the bed – and waited, didn't undress because Lisa had given him exactly nothing about her plans for the night. That was another thing – over the last year, Dean’s discovered the luxury of pajamas. Lisa had bought him a couple pairs of flannel pants for Christmas – Dean figured if he was going to commit to being a guy from the suburbs, at least he could be comfortable.

It’s a fifteen-minute wait before Lisa peeked around the corner. She looked beautiful, with her long dark hair and – Dean wasn't sure what to call it. It was something in the way she moved. Confidence, maybe.

“Babe,” she said. “You ready?”

“Always,” Dean said. Lisa stepped into the room and closes the door behind her, locking it. He watched her strip off her clothes into a heap on the floor, one layer at a time – sweatshirt, socks, pants, tee – down to her underwear, and then she stopped.

“Okay,” she said, that look in her eye again. “Now you.”

Dean went to unbutton his fly, but Lisa stopped him.

“Let me,” she said, and lifted his arms above his head. She removed his long-sleeve plaid shirt, his tee shirt, his undershirt, stopping Dean with a touch whenever he moved to help out.

“Uh-uh,” she said, her voice low. “Just do what I tell you – okay?”

Dean’s mouth went a little dry at that. Should it, he thought, be that hot, having someone take control like this? Not that he’s never done it before, but –

Lisa dropped to her knees in front of him and worked his boots off his feet.

“You’re so weird,” she said. “I wish you’d take them off in the house.” And then she looked up at Dean, through her eyelashes, and licked her lips. “Got to be ready for anything though, right?”

Dean nodded, and Lisa grinned, moving on to his socks, and then to his pants. By then, Dean was hard. He groaned when she undid his fly, and Lisa huffed something that might have been laughter. She didn't touch him, though. Instead, she moved away.

“Lean back,” she told him. Dean did, and Lisa painstakingly tugged off his jeans, leaving Dean on the bed in his boxers.

“Get under the covers,” Lisa said. Dean shifted so he could get his legs under the quilt.

“On your side,” Lisa told him. “In the middle, I think.”

“Lis-“

“Sh,” Lisa whispered. “Just go with it, Dean. Trust me.”

Dean wanted to touch Lisa. He wanted to move to the sex part of things, now. He laid on his side in the middle of their bed, and Lisa crawled in after him. She circled one arm over Dean’s torso, resting her palm on his bare chest. She threw one of her legs over Dean’s, and tucked the other up against his knees.

“Okay?” Lisa said. Dean was breathing like a racehorse. He could feel her body tucked against him, _holding him._ She pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder, inches away from –

“Lis,” Dean whispered back. “What are we doing?”

“We’re cuddling,” Lisa explained. Her breath was hot against Dean’s skin, but the desire that had been building up under his skin was ebbing away. “You know, we never really cuddle.”

“We do too,” Dean insisted. He went to flip over, but Lisa clamped her arm over his waist.

“Don’t move,” she said. Dean froze.

“You hold me,” Lisa murmured into his skin. “I never get to hold you. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?”

_You don’t think you deserve to be saved._

Dean grunted.

“I mean,” Lisa continued, “When was the last time someone held you like this? Doesn’t it feel good, being held by someone?”

Dean swallowed. He didn't say _I was four years old and I had a bad dream._ Lisa began to move her hand up and down his chest, pressing her warm fingers into his skin.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

She held him like that until he falls asleep.


End file.
